Worst Date Ever Read online

  “Yeah. But on Friday nights, it would be nice to be young, fabulous, and in a relationship.” She giggled. “I’d like to get laid again. Do you know how horny I am?”

  “Oh, my gosh! Keep your voice down.” I glared at her and glanced at the table to the right. I could tell that the two men that were sitting there were eavesdropping because one of them was grinning at his friend in a way that told me he thought our conversation was absolutely hilarious. He was probably thinking to himself how lucky he was that he wasn’t on a date with one of us crazy women. Who went to a fancy restaurant on a Friday night and bitched about being single loudly while eating tuna tartare? I mean, give me mozzarella sticks and a steak any time of the week. I didn’t have to be in an expensive restaurant bitching about my horrible love life.

  “Look, I’ve got an idea,” Abby interrupted my thoughts.

  “Hm, another idea?” I raised an eyebrow. “What are you, related to Einstein now? Every time you have an idea, it works out so badly for me.”

  “Fine, I’m not going to tell you.”

  “Tell me.”

  “No, not if you’re going to act like that.”

  “Act like what?”

  “You know how you’re acting, Isabella.”

  “No, I don’t, Abigail.”

  “Well, let’s wait to meet up with the girls later, and you can make up your mind then.”

  “First you need to tell me what your idea is.” I took a sip of water. “I’m not going to have them there trying to convince me before I even know what your idea is.”

  “Bella, listen to me, just let me go on the app and go on one date. And if you don’t like it at all, you never have to go on another one.” Abby batted her big eyes at me. “I promise it will make you happy.”

  “Really? You think a date from a dating app is going to make me happy?” I raised an eyebrow at her. “You really don’t think it takes much to make me happy, do you?”

  “What?” She laughed, “you just need to meet some nice guys.”

  “Nice guys do not exist—”

  “Yes, they do.”

  “You didn’t let me finish my sentence. I was going to say nice guys do not exist on dating apps. There may be some out there in the world, but they’re not on dating apps.”

  “I promise you’ll meet a great one.”

  “How can you promise I’ll meet a great one? Do you have some sort of connection to the love gods that I don’t know about? And if you do, why haven’t you used this connection to hook me up before?”

  “Oh, Belle Belle,” she laughed, “you’re silly.”

  “No, I’m not silly. I’m just speaking like a woman who has gone on many dates in her life with many assholes and losers. I do not need to go on another one.”

  “But that’s your problem. You just automatically assume that every guy is going to suck. Every guy doesn’t suck.”

  “I never said every guy sucks. I just said that the guys I go on dates with suck.”

  “Okay, but that’s why we’re following my first brilliant idea.”

  “Hmmm,” I said suspiciously.

  “What you’re doing isn’t working for you,” she shrugged, “and I’m your best friend. I know you better than anyone. I can ensure that you go on a date with a really awesome guy.”

  “I don’t know about this, Abby.”

  “Please, Bella, please?” She pouted. “You agreed the other night.”

  “I was high on carbs.” I sighed. “I just don’t know. It doesn’t really seem like a good idea.”

  “Just one date. It’s not like I’m asking you to go on 10 billion dates, just one. And wouldn’t it be nice for you to go on a really cool date before your trip this weekend? Where are you going again, Connecticut?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to Greenwich.” I rolled my eyes, “And how are you going to get me a date before then? I leave on Friday, and today is Monday.”

  “Well, let’s see. If I can get you a date for Thursday night, will you go on it?” Her eyes gleamed.

  “I’m not really liking the look in your eyes.”

  “Trust Me. Would I ever do anything—”

  I put my hand up, and I stopped her. “There are many things that you would do that would greatly annoy me.”

  “What? That’s not even what I was going to say.” She made a mock-innocent face.

  “Fine,” I said, “You can sign up for the dating app. But I’ll choose the photos, and I—”

  “Nope,” she shook her head. “I’m going to do everything. You just have to show up for the date.”

  “Well, am I even going to know anything about the guy before I show up for the date? And do you really think you’re going to get me a date by Thursday? I find it very unlikely. Guys in New York City, they do not go on last-minute dates, at least not the ones that I know.”

  “It’s not last minute,” she shook her head. “Today’s Monday, and the date will be on Thursday.”

  “So you’re going to get me a date by Thursday.” I paused, “Wait, are you going to talk to him? Because if you talk to him, he’s going to think I’m lying because it wasn’t me and—”

  “Stop, Bella. I promise you that I’ve got it all covered.”

  Famous last words. I should’ve known not to trust Abby. I should have known this was an awful idea, but I was game for anything and always had been all of my life. And that’s probably why I always found myself in the most ridiculous situations.

  Chapter Three

  Bank Account Balance: $1500

  Days Since My Last Date: 430 days

  Current Weight: 175 lbs

  * * *

  Quote of the day: “When things do not go your way, remember that every challenge—every adversity—contains within it seeds of opportunity and growth.”

  — Roy T. Bennett

  * * *

  Have you ever seen someone and instantly known they were going to equal trouble? I mean, I agree with the saying “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” but sometimes you need to listen to your gut. At least if you’re smart, you will. There are some men that you know need to be taken down a notch or two as soon as you see that cocky smile cross their face. There is a confidence that handsome sexy men have. It’s attractive because they are attractive. But when you really think about it, it’s downright annoying because they have all the power.

  I knew as soon as I saw Jack Morrison that I should walk out of the restaurant. The way his hazel-green eyes looked me up and down before settling on my eyes, the way he cooly flipped his slightly too long dirty blond hair away from his forehead, the way his jeans fit snugly on his muscular body, they were all signals to me that this man was going to be trouble. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted Abby. She had kept her word and gotten me a date for Thursday night, but as I stared at his cocky face, I wasn’t sure if I actually wanted to carry through with it.

  “Isabella?” His voice was deep and husky with a slight twang that made me wonder where he was from. He had on a crisp white shirt and dark slacks. His olive tan contrasted with the white of his shirt, and I wondered if he was that golden color all over his body.

  “Yes, Jack?” There was a slight snip to my voice because he was ten minutes late. I hated it when men were late for dates.

  “The one and only.” He tilted his head to the side and flashed his perfectly even white teeth. Of course, he’d have a perfect smile. Why wouldn’t he? He tilted his head slightly as he studied me. “I thought you were going to be a blonde.”

  “Okay, and?” I couldn’t believe that he hadn’t apologized for making me wait. How rude!

  “And nothing, I just thought you were going to be blonde. Like um, Pamela Anderson?” He looked like he was waiting for something.

  “So you’re disappointed?” My jaw was slightly slack now. Was this asshole kidding? I had spent two hours getting ready for this date and he was already trying to insult me.

  “I didn’t say that.” He blinked. “You could always dye your ha
ir.” His lips twitched as he studied my face. “Don’t kill me.” He held his hands up and chuckled. “It was a joke.”

  “It wasn’t very funny.”

  “You’re much hotter than Pamela Anderson.” He flashed a little smile as he said it. As much as I already hated him, I was a little flattered.

  “Uhm thanks, I guess,” I said with a flip of my long chestnut brown hair.

  “Shall we grab a seat?” He gestured towards the tables.

  I should have just said no and left then. Everything in my body was screaming at me to get out of there, go home, order a pizza, and veg out in front of the TV, but of course I was a dumbass. Why would I listen to the voice of reason inside my head? Instead, I listened to the devil whispering to me that he was the hottest guy I’d ever seen in my life. And I didn’t care if he was late and slightly rude—I wanted to flirt with a hot guy.

  “I don’t see why not.” I shrugged as I looked around the restaurant. I was hungry—really hungry. The low-carb diet I’d been on with my friends was not helping me much. I hadn’t lost any weight, and my stomach was grumbling morning, noon, and night. I knew that meant that I should be eating more, but the prospect of eating more grilled chicken and broccoli was hard to face.

  “So, is that a yes?”

  I felt his palm on the back of my shoulders, and I turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think you know me well enough to be touching me yet.”

  “Yet, huh?” He grinned as he dropped his hand.

  “Well, I don’t know that you’ll ever know me well enough to be touching me.”

  “Let’s see what you have to say by the end of the night.” He winked.

  “Hmm. I don’t think I’ll be saying anything by the end of the night.”

  I should have left the restaurant then and there. But there was something I enjoyed about his sexy banter. It had been too long since I’d been in a situation where I could flirt, where someone found me attractive, where I even felt a little turned on, which was crazy because I didn’t even know the guy. And he was already kind of annoying. But there was something about his charisma and charm.

  And hey, who can ignore his good looks? Tall, built, sparkling green eyes, the sort of dirty blonde hair that reminded me of hot surfers. Yeah, he could get it. Well, he could have gotten it when I was younger. Now I was a little more choosy, or at least I pretended to be.

  “Let’s have a seat.”

  “Do we know where we’re sitting?”

  “I know where we’re sitting.” He took my hand, and I looked at him again. He dropped it quickly. “Sorry. Too soon?”

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “This is a first date.”

  “I know,” he laughed. “I guess I just feel like I know you after our conversations online.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t.”

  Trust me, you really don’t know me. We’ve had zero conversations online. I was really wishing now that I had demanded that Abby let me see the messages that they had exchanged. I had no idea if she’d been flirty with him, if she’d been a tease, or what she told him about me.

  This hadn’t been the best thought-out plan, but Abby’s plans rarely were.

  “So, how would you like this table?” he said. We’d made our way to the back of the restaurant to a cozy little corner. There were three candles on the table and a vase of roses.

  “Is this normal?” I glanced around at the other tables—there were no candles, no roses.

  “If you go on a date with me,” he said as he pulled out my chair. “Would the lady like to sit?”

  “Would the lady like to what?”

  “I’m pulling out your chair and being a gentleman.”

  “Um, thank you.” I slid into the seat, very surprised when he pushed it in for me.

  “I take it you’ve not been on many dates with many gentlemen?”

  “I guess not.” I shook my head. “I’m happy if they open the door for me, let alone pull my chair back for me. Thank you.”

  “Wow. I got a thank you. Dare I say you’re impressed?” He sat down across from me.

  “Um, does it kind of detract from the gentleman act if you want kudos for it,” I pointed out with a smile.

  “I don’t know. You really think?”

  “I don’t know.” I grabbed the menu and opened it quickly. I was really hungry.

  “So, what do you think you’re going to get to eat?” he asked.

  “Oh, I’m not sure.” My stomach growled as I studied the delicious items on the menu. This was going to be a hard one because there were so many things that I wanted and so many things that I shouldn’t have. “Maybe I’ll get a salad, uh, grilled chicken salad.” It even sounded boring.

  “Oh,” he looked at me in surprise, “A grilled chicken salad, huh? You’re going to come to a steak restaurant known for its English specials and get a salad?”

  “What’s an English special? I didn’t know the English were known for their steaks.”

  “Well, you can get a prime rib with au jus gravy and roast potatoes, and Yorkshire pudding and some vegetables.”

  “Oh, like a Sunday roast?”

  “Yep,” he nodded. “And trust me, it’ll be the best steak you’ve ever had in your life. Also the best Yorkshire put in I’ve ever had in the States.”

  “You know, I’ve never had Yorkshire pudding,” I admitted. “I’ve always heard about it and read about it, but I’ve never had it.”

  “Oh?” He looked surprised. “You’ve never been to England?” He looked at me over his menu.

  “No, I’ve never been to England. I’d love to go, though. It’s on my top five list of places to visit. I absolutely love Jane Austin and Shakespeare and Dickens and, well, I’m a bit of an Anglophile.”

  “You’re a bit of a what?” he said, leaning forward.

  “I’m a bit of an Anglophile. Like, I absolutely love the British. I love the royal family, I love Prince William, I love Prince Harry, I follow all the drama …” I paused. “Maybe this isn’t something I should be admitting out loud, but you know what I mean. I just like royalty and …” I bit on my lower lip. “Sorry, I’m talking a lot, aren’t I?”

  “No. It’s nice to finally meet you in person and hear what you’re interested in.”

  “Yeah. I studied Art History, and—”

  “I didn’t know that,” he shook his head. “Interesting. That’s not what I would have guessed.”

  “Oh,” I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “I mean, because of your love of sports and all.”

  “My love of …?” I said. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. I love sports. Football, basketball, baseball, golf, swimming, you name it, I love it. I’m so sporty, and I love watching it on TV and I like going to games.”

  I just went with it. Obviously, Abby had lied and said I love sports, and well, I didn’t want to give it up too soon, so who cared if I pretended I liked sports? Lots of women pretend that they liked sports.

  “Oh, so you’re into football, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah, super into football.”

  “Who is your favorite football team?” He leaned forward slightly as if he were really interested in my answer.

  “Um, well, you know I live in New York.”

  “Yeah?”

  “So, I love the New York Knicks, of course.”

  “The New York Knicks?” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s your favorite football team? The Knicks?”

  “Um, well, no, I, I …” I stumbled over my words. “I was just joking. I actually love the New England Patriots because I love Tom Brady,” I said, remembering something my dad had once mentioned about Tom Brady and the New England Patriots. They were definitely a football team. I hoped.

  “But they’re not in New York.” He frowned slightly.

  “Yeah. I mean, I live in New York, so of course, like I love New York teams, but my absolute favorite is the Patriots because they’re an awesome football team, right?”

  “Yeah …” he nodded sl
owly, “and you know Brady is not with the Patriots?”

  “He’s not?” Was this something I was going to have to tell my dad? Had he gotten it wrong?

  “I mean, he used to be with the Patriots, but he just won the Super Bowl for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers this year. You knew that, right?”

  “Well, of course. I mean, I wanted to go to Tampa Bay and be at the Super Bowl, but I didn’t have money for the ticket because I am an artist.” I knew I needed to shut up because I was obviously sounding like an idiot. “But anyway, tell me more about you and what you’re interested in.”

  “I love sports as well. I really love football.”

  “You do?” I squirmed in my seat. I didn’t want to talk about football anymore. “What about art? Are you into art?”

  “Um, a little bit. So, you’re an artist?”

  “Yeah. I love art. I live art.”

  “So, what do you do? Are you a painter, a sculptor?”

  “I’m so glad that you know there are different types of art. Most people just think it’s drawing or something. But no, I’m a painter. Mainly watercolor. I used to do oil painting, but it just got too expensive and too messy. So now I do custom watercolor paintings, and I teach classes. One day I’m hoping to have my own little gallery and teach my own classes, you know?”

  “Sounds admirable. Would I have seen any of your work anywhere?”

  “Oh no, I’m not Andy Warhol or Monet or van Gogh or anything. I’m not famous. Maybe one day. Though I don’t know that I’m good enough to be famous, but …” I paused. “Sorry. Sometimes I mumble.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “No, I’m not nervous. Are you?”

  “No. You’re very different from what I thought, but I guess we all have different sides to us, don’t we?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. What different sides did I have to me? I was pretty much an open book as far as I was concerned. I loved art, I loved my friends, I loved food, I loved coffee shops, and I loved having a good time. What else was there? Well, there was one thing, but that wasn’t anything I was going to discuss with him. He did not need to know my personal goings on.